Thursday, March 21, 2013

Settling In

Truth Thursday

After a long, three-month dry spell, I finally had a day
like I remember from before. A day where I felt accomplished, one in which I
remembered why I love my work. A day that bolstered me instead of defeated me.
A day in which I remembered why I was willing to step up and take on a full-time
job that is actually three jobs and why I was willing to rework my relationship
to my family, my life and myself.

It wasn’t a remarkable day in terms of what I did. I had the
chance to meet someone new and begin a conversation about how we might work together.
I had the chance to meet someone I’ve known for a long time and have a
conversation about how we are already working together. And I had a chance to
talk with the person who oversees my work (I have decided to stop using the
word “boss” – it feels patriarchal and intimidating) and have a conversation
about the many pieces I’m juggling, most of it seemingly successfully.

That’s it. Three interactions. That was my whole work day.
Very few emails. Little if nothing actually moved forward. But three incredibly
satisfying, emotional and important interactions.

At the end of the day, a day that also included incredible
sadness intermingled with the satisfaction, as I had learned in the morning that
the father of a very close friend had died, at the end of this day and after
these conversations that fed me, I felt grounded in way that has eluded me for
several months.

I have been twisting and turning since I took on the mantle
of these new jobs, nervous about the many moving parts, overseeing a big move
in our office that affects everyone – both physically and emotionally. Being
responsible for how other people are feeling. Planning a trip to another
country and not knowing how to land on the exact right dates for the trip,
trying to please a lot of different players in the decision-making and not
trusting my own instincts quite yet. Overseeing a dedicated group of volunteers
who look to me for leadership and yet, feeling like I don’t have quite enough
arms to ensure that their direction is clear.

My family has felt the stress of these new moves. Earlier
last week, there was a front page story in the Metro section of the Washington
Post which described how men are taking on much of the dual parenting
responsibilities and trying balance it with their work. They are, not
surprisingly, having a hard time and in fact, seem to find it even more
disruptive and challenging than do women.

My 11-year-old son saw this headline and asked me about the
story. Then he said, “the Washington Post should write a story about us. I want
to be in the paper.” “Why?” I asked,
completely unprepared for his answer. I thought he liked the idea of being a
little famous. “Because you’re stressed
all the time, so they should write a story about you.”

Ouch.

This conversation came early in the day. Later the same day,
a colleague who understands my position, who sympathizes with my twists and
turns, put her finger on the hardest part for me. We talked about how, when I
was a consultant who managed her own schedule, even though I was working when I
was in my home office, there was quiet, thinking, personal time involved. I had
a room of my own, and it was there I recharged. It allowed me the space I
needed apart from conversation and people and demands to settle myself into
whatever role I needed to play next. It gave me time for writing, for thinking,
and for processing.

It was my white space.
And I no longer have my white space. An office with florescent lights,
no matter how many pictures of my family are sitting on the file cabinet, is no
substitute for white space.

I desperately need my white space.

That same day, another colleague told me a story about her
own childhood, when her mother went back to work when she was 11 years old. And
my colleague’s memory of her mother from that time was that she was always
making dinner with her coat on.

That’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. Like I’m making dinner
with my coat on. No white space.

No interregnum between walking out the door of the office
and walking into the chaos of a house where dinner needs to be made, groceries
need to be bought, homework needs to be done, holidays need to be prepped,
friendships need to be tended, cleaning rears its ugly head on a daily basis,
and the dishwasher, yet again, needs to be emptied.

So this was a week of “aha” moments and conversations. Capped off by the feeling, at the end of the
day on Friday, that, in fact, I can do it. And that I will mostly enjoy doing
it. And that I love the work I do. And I love that still have flexibility in my
work life and my home life. And that I need to be creative about creating my
white space.

So when I happily ended my day a little early in order to be
able to prepare Friday night Shabbat dinner, my two teens were already in the
kitchen. The 17-year-old, who has been angling to learn “life skills” before he
leaves for college in a few months, asked to make dinner. And the 13-year-old,
knowing that I hadn’t had the time to go out to the store to get a special
Shabbat treat, asked if she could bake something.

So there I was, me and my glass of wine, watching my kids
prepare a lovely dinner, having had experienced a day of satisfying meetings
and conversations. All seemed to be in place. It allowed me to reach out and
help my friend in need. It allowed me to settle into an evening of reading a
new and wonderful book. We had delicious salmon, and a fabulous pumpkin pie.

And it allowed me to think, for the first time since I
started, that perhaps I can do this.

Comments

Karen, what a wonderful post! I am glad you had a good "flow" day, as Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi would say. I wish you many more. (And I am sure you will, now that you have discovered the missing ingredient: white space.)

Of course you CAN do it all, but must you? Someone to take over the laundry/cleaning/grocery-shopping as needed/and other unspecified tasks would help ease the stress. Lovely story about your older two making Shabbat dinner....but how about the other, never-ending tasks? Happy Passover, dear Karen! Fondly, Barbara